


Solace

by littlemaple



Series: In the Dread Wolf's shadow [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Your Heart Shall Burn, Haven (Dragon Age), Kinda, M/M, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemaple/pseuds/littlemaple
Summary: After facing Corypheus in Haven, Lavellan wanders, alone, in the cold mountains.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan & Solas (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Series: In the Dread Wolf's shadow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147739
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! a while back I wrote a one-shot about Lavellan and Solas. Recently I read it again, and it got me in the mood to keep writing. So, almost a year later, here we are. I didn't want to commit to a work in progress, so I created a series instead so that I can write individual one-shots set in the same timeline from time to time.  
> They work as standalone but make a bigger picture together. I just want to explore their relationship in some of my favorite chapters of the game. :)

The cold was sharp, like daggers pressed against every inch of his skin. Lavellan hadn’t been aiming for death when he jumped — the idea was simply to escape the avalanche – but the bludgeoning pain on his back had knocked his air away and had been enough to make him think this time for sure he would die. He hadn’t died, though. He was very much alive and very much in pain and very much _cold._

His wrist was burning where Corypheus had held him, and he was sure there was something wrong with his shoulder, as well with some ribs — dislocated or broken or both; he wasn’t particularly good with healing, and at that moment, he cursed himself for it. He even considering trying anyway, however… He didn’t want to try moving the wrong bones, making it worse. To be honest, Lavellan wasn’t even sure he’d be _able_ to cast anything, even if he tried. He even had thought about fire spells, to warm up at least, but living in a forest, those spells weren’t much encouraged, and he didn’t trust himself to start learning _now_ , with his body too stiff to properly handle mana and magic and the Veil. Every inch of him was freezing and at every passing moment he felt harder to move; but he knew he had to, so he clung to his staff and moved. One step and one gasp at a time.

The Mark was acting up, too. Flaring and throbbing more violently than ever before, shooting warm pain up his veins. In the cold, it was almost welcome. Uncomfortable, but warm. It was like company.

The wind was howling so loud it added reason for his shivering. He was sure he could hear wolves, too, far away. Or was it just his imagination? He wasn’t sure and, in all honesty, he wouldn’t mind them, the wolves. Not even the Dread Wolf himself. Anything to distract him from the pain and from the cold, empty nothingness.

Lavellan had always hated it, being alone. Growing up with the Dalish, he was used to company even in privacy – there was always someone just at the corner of his eyes, at arm’s reach. While he knew most would think this a bad thing, he himself had always felt comfort and solace in knowing that no matter what, someone would be there to teach or guide or share the burden with him. And now he didn’t have that. As far as he was aware, everyone must think he was dead. No one would look for him, not in this cold emptiness, only the wind and the snow and the pain to keep him company. And perhaps, he gulped, also the demons on the other side of the Veil.

Being sent away from his clan to investigate the Conclave had felt like a betrayal. It hadn’t been _his_ choice. The Keeper was too old, the Second was too young; all the hunters were essential — so he was the one they sent. He had begged and even cried, but his Keeper wouldn't listen.

So, he went. The journey had been long and scary and lonely, and the Conclave… all his memories jumbled up around it, like the air around his fingertips right before casting a spell. He couldn’t remember much, just… the fear and the death and the certainty that he would never be coming back to his clan; that in either life or death, he was on his own.

But then he had woken that morning after the Breach, and there was Solas: the bald elf that sat by him, healed him, helped him, and taught him all he needed to know about what was happening to himself and to the world — a friend, someone he could trust and talk to and listen to; someone who although different, still understood.

How many times had he sought Solas’ cabin in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, finding Solas on the other side of the door, candlelight illuminating the concern in his face? How many times had Solas allowed him to sit down on his own bed to doze off while he read or studied or sat down on his chair to dream?

And now Lavellan had lost him too.

Had he died in Haven — the thought crept up to his mind like a tiny little spider — at least he’d have the comfort of knowing that it would be easier to find his body and that, eventually, perhaps Solas could visit his lost soul in the Fade. When he eventually succumbed to the sharp cold nothingness, though… his body would freeze and be covered by snow long before any wolves could find it, and he would be lost forever, an icy stone that not even the demons would be able to locate.

Not even the Dread Wolf would be able to find him there.

Lavellan sighed, shoving the spider away, and walked. Slowly, one arm shielding his barely open eyes from the wind. His fingertips felt numb, and he tried walking faster, the breathing catching on his throat.

So, he walked, and he walked, and he walked. From time to time he could see a tree, or an old campsite long forgotten, half-buried in snow. He could hear the wolves far away, as well as his own labored breathing close. He could feel his bones aching. And he was sure the moment he gave in and stopped on his tracks to rest, it’d be over.

He couldn’t tell if it had been hours or days or weeks. He could only remember the walking. And then, suddenly, there was a voice. Not a wolf, nor demons, but a familiar voice. He couldn’t place it in the whiteness around him. Maybe it _was_ a demon.

_No_ , he thought. He wouldn’t give in to demons. He tried to keep on walking. But then the voice had a hand on his shoulder. He panicked, as it felt an invasion to the aloneness that had been surrounding him, and he tried to shove it away. The only thing it accomplished was a _second_ hand on his other shoulder. The sudden weight on it made him hiss, his legs finally giving in, making him fall to his knees.

“Lavellan,” the voice was saying, “ _Lethallin_?”

He looked up, afraid, and confused, his eyelids heavy with snow and exhaustion. Solas stood there. Relief and fear fought inside him – was he found or was he lost? Had they been looking for him, or had he died, and this was the Fade, Solas drawn to his Spirit?

The words rasped on his dry throat and never reached his lips. He leaned forward, towards his friend, towards his warmth and comfort. He didn’t mind if he was alive or dead, he only cared that, in Solas’ company, he could allow himself to rest.

When he came to, the warmth and the lack of pain startled him. His wrist still ached, and his torso was uncomfortable but mostly the pain was gone, and he didn't feel like stone anymore, although there was still wind, and his feet and fingertips still felt cold. There was a blanket on top of him and something very, very warm wrapped on his left hand. His eyes trailed to it to find Solas holding his hands with both of his, mumbling something under his breath. Lavellan noticed the light green glow escaping from between Solas’ fingers.

Lavellan didn’t usually seek the Fade in his dreams, but he had nonetheless seen it enough to know this wasn’t it: he wasn’t dead. Not yet at least. He felt so relieved he could cry — but didn’t. Perhaps the tears were still frozen inside him. Instead, he smiled. A small, shaken smile.

“How are you feeling, _Lethallin_?” Solas asked.

“Cold,” Lavellan mumbled. The words were still rasping on his throat. They came out small, his voice breaking, “I thought I would die.”

“We all thought that” Solas answered, “The rumors say Andraste herself guided you to us.”

Lavellan half laughed, half winced, “Might as well have been. I had no idea where I was going… it was just so… white. Just nothing. I was lost, and alone…” he shivered. On the back of his mind, he still could hear the wind howling. With it, Cullen and Cassandra arguing loudly. He stiffed at their voices, understanding what it was about without the need to hear the words. He didn’t _want_ to be part of that conversation, and yet he felt like he should.

As he tried to pull himself up, however, Solas’ hands tightened around his.

“You should rest,” he said in a tone that left no space for argument, “We have a long journey ahead and you need to be recovered to guide us.”

“Guide us _where_? I don't know where we are… I don't even know how I got here.”

Solas smiled, that mysterious, fascinating smile of his, the one that always had Lavellan’s heart beating a little faster, but he didn't answer the question.

“For now, concern yourself with resting. Everything else can wait.”

Lavellan parted his lips to say otherwise but stopped. He could feel his hair damp on his forehead, his wrist aching, the exhaustion in every inch of him. Perhaps a few hours of rest wouldn’t do any harm. He nodded then, “Okay…” he agreed quietly, “can you… I just don’t want to be alone…”

Again he felt the spider in his mind, whispering that if he were to fall asleep now, he’d wake up in the snow, alone once more. It was silly, a silly idea, he was aware it was real, the makeshift bed where he lay, the warmth, the people around him. and yet he feared. It gripped at his soul like cobwebs, wrapping around him the more he tried to get away from it.

“You’re not alone,” Solas smiled, “the entire Inquisition is with you.”

“No,” Lavellan answered, grabbing Solas’ hands before he could move away, though he was still sitting there, “Please stay _here_ , don’t leave my side. Until I sleep, at least. Please.”

Solas blinked, then smiled. He grabbed Lavellan’s hand again.

“Of course, _Lethallin_ ,” he said.

Lavellan relaxed, smiling with eyes closed.

“ _Melava somniar, da’len_ ,” Solas’ voice was quiet and comforting, and Lavellan opened his eyes again to look at him. He knew those words. His Keeper used to sing it for him to sleep when he was a child. Lavellan wondered where Solas had learned the lullaby. Perhaps in one of his dreams? Lavellan knew he wasn’t very much found of the Dalish. “ _Tel'enfenim, da'len, ma'desen melar_ ”, he continued. The order was a little different than what he remembered, and Solas wasn’t singing, just reciting the words quietly, slowly. Lavellan had no complaints. It was comforting.

He closed his eyes again, feeling the no longer frozen tears falling from his eyelashes.

Lavellan smiled. _I’m not alone_ , he thought, and allowed himself to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> The words spoken in Elven are from the Mir Da'len Somniar lullaby. I shuffled them around a bit, but they mean "Time to dream, little one / Never fear, little one, I will hold you here."


End file.
